


Lull

by landsail0r



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, One-Shot, Steve Rogers-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3936319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landsail0r/pseuds/landsail0r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can never really forget where you've come from (cw for panic attacks, violence and death mention, and implied abuse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lull

The sound of cars is like the ocean. Several stories above the street the headlights still draw patterns on the apartment wall, but the horns are distant echoes in the canyons of the city. Steve sits on the couch, hands clasped, watching the lights wash across the apartment and disappear again. Under the blanket of 1 A.M silence he can hear the movements of people in the apartment building and outside; even when most people are asleep the city is breathing. Above him someone is stepping lightly, and a few doors down a TV whispers into the night.

Raised voices, sudden and acrid, snap him out of his reverie. He stays on the couch but his back is rigid, his shoulders hunched up tight and his fingers clutching his jeans.

“God fucking damn it, Matthew!” 

The voices are further down the hall; he can’t make out the mumbled reply. 

“You promised you’d be back. Early. Just this once.”

It’s like there radio static in his head. He digs his fingers into his thighs, unmoving.

“I’m sick and tired of this.” Her voice is thick with tears, nearly a scream now. 

Steve feels like the anger is crushing him, as painful as a physical blow. Her fury seems to permeate the air, making it too thick to breathe.

The yelling continues, but he can’t hear it. He is ten years old, being shoved against a wall, taunting children’s voices echoing in his head. His mother is chastising him for the one good shirt that is now splashed with mud; he is in church, head bowed, pulling at the cuffs of the frayed hand-me-down with his face burning. He’s left the pot on the stove again and someone is yelling and he’s not good enough or big enough or strong enough—

A door slams. There are footsteps in the hall and everything is still again.

A man is dead in his arms. 

Steve opens his eyes, uncertain of when he closed them or when he slid to the floor. His hands are shaking in front of his face and the world has suddenly become too small. There are tears on his face.

He sits there on the floor for several minutes, trying to get his breath back, but the fear and anger is still clawing at his mind, so finally he picks up the phone in trembling hands. 

Natasha gets there within fifteen minutes. She pulls him gently off the floor, sitting next to him without speaking for several minutes before asking quietly, “What was it this time?”

He shakes his head, trying to smile. “It wasn’t anything, really. I’m sorry to drag you here.”

“It’s something if it affected you. You don’t have to tell me.”

Steve shrugs. “Someone was yelling. I just… I don’t know.”

“It’s hard to remember that the yelling isn’t directed at you.”

“Or that it won’t be me next. I sometimes feel like I’m never going to be good enough and that everyone knows it.” He holds up his hand. “I know how ridiculous that sounds, but I spent so many years of my life letting everyone down, I still can’t believe that it’s not still happening. And it’s not like the serum stopped me from being a fuck up.” He pretends he can’t see Bucky’s face like its right in front of him.

“You can’t keep living your life for everyone else forever.”

“I can try.” It comes out harsher than he intended, and he stands almost without meaning to before turning away ashamed.

She puts her hand on his shoulder, looking out the window into the night. “You’re good enough for the people you’ve saved.”

He almost whispers what about the people I didn’t?, but holds it back and stands in silence in the darkened apartment. “Thanks.”


End file.
